Stanley does a good Rathbonian Sherlock, and although Alfred Shirley's rather arch Watson is a switch from Nigel Bruce's lovable bumbler, and perhaps a tad overdone at times, he gets the job done well enough.
In a switch from earlier seasons, Sherlock and Watson snap at each other quite a bit: Sherlock is always shushing Watson with a sharp "Quiet, Watson," and Watson will get fed up with Sherlock's superior needling and tell him to "go to blazes."
That brand of repartee, which I find rather amusing, features mostly in episodes in which the announcer, at the end, credits the writing to American author and actress Edith Meiser. According to Wikipedia
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edith_Meiser , Meiser wrote Sherlock for radio in the '30s and early '40s--which probably means this season is mainly re-staging old scripts.
The language is well written, and the adaptations of Conan Doyle stories come off smartly. Less effective are the actual new stories: in most cases, they're just poor mysteries, with solutions frequently becoming obvious even to a dunderpate like me midway through; or dealing with trifles, even descending into social comedies; or even in a few cases--something that turned me off to Agatha Christie novels--relying on a clue that was not described to the reader until afterward.
The production is probably the most pleasant since the Rathbone era began: the music is mellow rather than jarring, the sound effects effective, and the ads not *too* annoying--except for the ones in which Watson jarringly joins in.